


Taste Test

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Series: Culinary Series [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-28
Updated: 2005-04-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the food has side effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste Test

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for sga_flashfic's "38 minutes" challenge.

Epinephrine in hand, Carson waited at the edge of the circle, just in case someone went into anaphylactic shock. John appreciated the concern; Stackhouse had had a bad reaction last month, during the last "taste test." 

The mess hall buzzed as everyone shifted, watching as John and Rodney faced each other over the table top. "Ready?" John held up a small golden yellow globe over the plate, one of the newest imports. Teyla said the fruit had a 'bite'. Whether that meant that the food was bitter or hot wasn't perfectly clear, and so a spray bottle with sugar syrup and a couple of spit bowls were at hand, just in case. 

Rodney nodded. "You realize it's foolish to go up against a hypoglycemic Canadian when food is on the line." He held up his globe fruit as well, and stared determinedly into John's eyes. 

The crowd counted down for them, and they both bit. 

In less than 30 seconds, John's eyes were watering and sweat broke out on his forehead, while Rodney gestured wildly to Ford to spray his mouth with the syrup, cutting the pepper's heat. 

Rodney was brilliant, and John copied his moves, waving his arms around wildly. Zelenka stepped forward and covered John's mouth and tongue with a steady spray of sugar water. John heard his sigh echoed from Rodney as the sugar finally smothered the pepper's heat. 

Then it was a matter of watching and waiting. The crowd drifted away as nothing new happened, and after about thirty minutes, Carson dragged John and Rodney down to the infirmary and checked them over: no hives or rashes or strange discolorations were found. So if nothing else happened in the next 24 hours, the peppers would be declared "safe to eat." 

"Not that anyone would want to eat them," Rodney muttered, sticking out his tongue and twisting his face like a cat trying to lick itself. "Those things were nasty." 

"I dunno. I thought they tasted like a chili, only more chocolaty." 

"Hmm." Rodney tapped his finger against his chin. "I suppose you could make a mole out of them." 

John clapped his hand on Rodney's back. "Now you're talking." 

* * *

Sweat pouring off of him, John snapped awake. He'd thrown his covers off at some point in the night, and he lay there naked, sweat pooling along the dips between his ribs then sliding onto the sheets. He rubbed a hand over his forehead, slowly sitting upright, inner heat dissipating in the chill room. 

His room smelled like grass and sunlight, like the park on a summer's day. Only it was chill and night and indoors, so there was no way Atlantis could smell like that. Could it? Maybe some experiment gone wrong, or perhaps the kitchen roaster was being used, and the scent had drifted into John's room. 

Whatever it was, the heat and the smell drove him upright, tension held throughout his body. He couldn't stay here. He had to leave, had to find — 

_— Rodney's head tilted back, his mouth forming a large 'Oh' pressed up against him, slick skin to skin —_

— He froze on the image, a thought, a feeling pounding through him. **Yes**

The door opened before John could think of moving and Rodney stood there, framed in the light. Like John, he had no shirt. Like John, he had no shoes. Like John, sweat was dotting his face and chest and arms. 

Unlike John, he still wore pants. 

Rodney stepped into the room, removed his last article of clothing, and the door closed behind him. 

* * *

In the morning, Carson examined them again. "So no ill effects then? Queasiness? Irritable bowl? Stomach distress?" 

"Nope. Nada. Nothing. Zilch." John shook his head, pointedly not looking at Rodney, who was uncharacteristically subdued. 

"What about headache? Dizziness?" John tried not to squint as Carson shown a light in his eyes. 

"Nothing." 

"Any unusual side effect that you care to discuss?" Carson clicked off the light and looked at Rodney. 

"Nightmares." He said promptly, looking pointedly at John. 

"I wouldn't call them nightmares," John said slowly, feeling the heat creep through him again. "I'd call them — vivid dreams." 


End file.
